


there’s a hole in my heart (but maybe you can fill it)

by sheepyshavings



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Angst, F/F, Hurt/Comfort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-14
Updated: 2014-09-14
Packaged: 2018-02-17 09:32:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,204
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2304929
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sheepyshavings/pseuds/sheepyshavings
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Emma has had enough of defeating wicked witches and jumps town. Regina is having none of it and comes after her. (Set after the defeat of Zelena, ignores events of the season 3 finale.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	there’s a hole in my heart (but maybe you can fill it)

**Author's Note:**

> There's a lovely photomanipulation for this story by fuckyeahxanthe. You can find at http://archiveofourown.org/works/2308577

Regina finds the letter folded neatly and taped underneath the Christmas wreath. She plucks it off, glaring at the residue the tape leaves behind on the white paint. Evidently the writer of the letter thought simple clear tape wouldn’t hold and opted for duct tape instead. It’s cold out and she quickly closes the door behind her and breathes warm air into her hands, the paper still between her fingers. She puts down her car keys in the small glass dish like she always does, toes off her shoes to rest on the mat in the foyer, and places the letter down long enough to undo the buttons on her thick winter coat. December in Maine is proving to be downright nasty with average temperatures hovering just above zero. Lately, it’s taken an obscene amount of willpower to just pull herself out of bed in the morning.

The letter isn’t held together by anything fancy, just a piece of scotch tape ripped at an angle like whoever pulled it from the dispenser hadn’t quite made a clean cut. She slips her finger under it, unsticks it, and unfolds the paper.

Her heartbeat quickens as she scans across the messy scrawl, and before she even gets to the end of the words, her fingers tighten up enough to tear the edges of the paper. There’s no more to the letter, but she stares at the words for a little while longer before discarding them next to her keys.

The phone rings four times before the fifth is ring is cut off by a worried voice.

“Do you know where Emma is?”

She hears baby Neal crying on the other end of the line and Charming’s coos to calm the racket.

“I’m going to be leaving town this evening and I need you to take over as Mayor until I return.” Snow is the last person she ever wishes to give any responsibility to, but she is also the only person she knows will do it without question. Snow is a natural-born leader. It’s in her blood to shepherd those in need, even if she is self-righteous and naïve.

“Regina, what-“

“Emma is fine. Good afternoon, Snow.”

Regina sets down the phone with a ‘click’ and proceeds to pack her things. She’ll leave a note for Robin to take care of Henry while she’s away. At the thought of Henry, anger bubbles up inside of her, anger so familiar. What is she going to tell her son as she leaves town without notice? An itch to slap Emma Swan across the face follows the anger and she sighs. She’s too worn down to do this, too tired of things popping up just as peace seems to settle in again.

Sometimes she thinks Emma must try to do this. That Emma is intent on making her life more difficult and more stressful, intent to cause every headache. She checks the clock to see Henry will be home from school in a half hour. The overnight bag snaps shut, filled with a change of clothes and toiletries. She is not planning on spending more than one night away.

She briskly walks to the kitchen to throw together dinner for Henry, something he can heat up in the microwave at Robin’s later. The clock ticks on the wall across from the island where she cuts up carrots methodically. The minute hand slides closer and closer to 3:30 and when she hears the whir of the bus coming down the road, she puts down the knife, wipes her hands on her apron, and prepares to tell her son that his mother has run away.

 

\--

 

The last time Regina left Storybrooke to go to another town instead of another realm was when she had made the final decision to keep Henry instead of giving him back. She vividly remembers his tiny hands reaching up from the carrier out to her as she sat in the sterile-smelling adoption office. Now, she can only see the way his face had fell as she told him why she had to leave town. Yes, he had to stay, and yes, Emma would be home soon.

_“Is it my fault?” Henry asks, his eyes cast downward and the tone of his voice indicating that he is already sure of the answer._

She grips the steering wheel tighter and her fury at Emma only rises. The signs on the highway pass in a blur and she follows the small symbols that indicate Boston. Boston, 80 miles; Boston, 30 miles; Boston, exit 46. It’s getting dark, but the lights from the other cars and the florescent glow along the side of the road illuminate the buildings as she approaches them.

Her phone has buzzed numerous times, and she had looked down each time to see Snow’s name flashing on the screen. The pleas remain unanswered. She’ll call back to Storybrooke tonight, but only to talk to Henry. Pressing questions can wait until her car arrives back to Maine with the yellow deathtrap in tow.

Regina has Emma’s address pinned to the side of the rear view mirror, and the GPS navigates her through the outer edges of the city, past convenience stores and hair salons. It takes her three trips around the block to find parking, and even then she scowls at the prices on the meter. Overnight parking is prohibited, and she curses before making a note to herself to ask Emma where she can stay until morning. She wants to return as soon as possible, but she’s already too tired and can’t trust herself to drive back three hours into a potential snowstorm on little sleep and high stress.

The air is less cold than it was in Storybrooke, and the buildings shelter her from the breeze. It hasn’t snowed as much in Boston as back home, so her boots are only covered in a thin dusting when she arrives on the stoop of the apartment building. The front door isn’t locked, so she pushes it open. The entryway smells like stale air and wet shoes, the carpet already slippery under her feet with brown slush and ice melt. Her heels crunch against the salt as she makes her way down the hall, checking the sheet again to find the apartment number. She had found the address tucked away in Henry’s drawer where he’d said it would be. It seems he had saved it from years previously when he’d decided to skip town and seek out the Savior himself. How the tables have turned.

She knocks on the door next to the silvery _205_. The door itself is a pale yellow with unreadable brown cursive from top to bottom, something that strikes Regina as very un-Emma.

Her insides twist and for a horrible moment she wonders if Emma will be here at all.

The only sound comes from the muffled music drifting through the door of room 203 down the hall. Regina squeezes the straps of her purse and the knot in her stomach tightens.

There’s a rustle somewhere behind the door. A flash of green across darts across the eyehole and disappears, leaving Regina squinting to catch some sign of movement.

“The door’s unlocked.”

She can barely hear it through the walls, but it’s there and it’s all she needs. Gripping the handle, she hears the door click open. She enters Emma’s apartment.

 

\--

 

“Looks like we’re falling into old patterns, Regina states dryly as she kicks aside the beer can on the floor and takes in the room around her.

Emma is up on her feet in a split second and tries her very best to throw a punch, but she’s too slow and ends up half-slumped against Regina, who pushes Emma off with a grunt.

“Yeah,” Emma sighs and falls back onto the couch. “Looks like we are.”

She’s wearing that damned red jacket, something that still reminds Regina of the first night she met Emma Swan. Apart from the bottle at her own feet, four more rest under the coffee table in the middle of the room, all empty.

“Are you sober?” she asks, stiffening her posture.

The room smells vaguely of liquor, but it’s overpowered by the distinctive odor of pizza, which is confirmed by the empty Dominos box on the counter.

“I am now, mostly. If I’d known you’d show up, I’d have had a few more.” Emma chuckles to herself. She looks virtually the same as the day before when Regina had last saw her, but her whole demeanor seems to be more comfortable, her arms thrown over the back of the couch and her face not as pinched as it had always seemed to be in Storybrooke.

“But I guess I’m not surprised you did.”

“So what? You just snuck out in the early morning? Snow didn’t even notice your absence?”

Emma rolls her eyes and rests her head on a couch cushion, her gaze focused on the wall behind the other woman.

“My parents sleep like the dead. Although, I think my car made some horrible noises trying to start. What do you call it again? The deathtrap?” She laughs to herself. “Yeah, I guess I did. It’s what I’m best at, you say it yourself all the time.”

“I don’t know what you’re playing at, Emma, but I imagine that you’ll pack your things tonight and plan on returning to Maine tomorrow morning.”

Regina doesn’t expect it to be this easy, but she has to start somewhere. She already feels the anger rising again at the sight of an ever-so-relaxed Emma Swan, miles and miles away from her son and her parents and everyone who won’t even realize she’s gone until Snow inevitably lets everyone know.

“Regina, I can’t do that.” Emma is still smiling, but it’s strained. Her eyes aren’t crinkled anymore and the knuckles on her hands have turned white where she’s gripping the couch. She kicks a beer can on the ground and it rolls until hitting the wall. She stands.

“I’m not giving you a choice.” Regina keeps her voice low, her words even, and her eyes on Emma. She shrugs the purse off her shoulder and sets her overnight bag down. “Stop acting like a child.”

Emma moves over to the kitchen counter and sweeps the crumbs of pizza crust off into a garbage bin. She then folds the box up and tosses it in after. She won’t turn to Regina, keeping her back facing the other woman even as she moves about the room.

“Listen to me!” Regina snaps.

“I don’t want to!” Emma spins around and slams her palm on the counter, creating a loud _crack_ that fills the room. She just stares at Regina, her eyes wide and chest heaving from the outburst. Regina glares back.

“You cannot just decide to leave your family, Miss Swan,” she says, holding up a hand and giving her most pointed stare when Emma opens her mouth to protest. “You cannot just leave Henry and not give any explanation.”

“I can’t stay there and be a mother to Henry, either,” Emma pleads, her eyes glossing over. She brings her sleeve up and aggressively wipes at her face.

“Stop it!” Regina shouts, her tone shifting.

“No!” Emma slams her hand on the counter again and this time Regina flinches at the sound of contact. “I can’t live in Storybrooke anymore, not when I know what it’s like to live a normal life with Henry and not have to defeat dragons and wicked witches and almost die every other day. I can’t live with people who want to decide who I am, and I can’t live with a son who expects me to never fuck up. I can’t be that person for them. I can’t do it.” Emma tries to keep her voice from wavering, but with each word it shakes more and more until her voice is barely audible.

“So you ran away?” Regina sneers. “You ran away because you couldn’t handle a little affection, typical Emma Swan. And we’d all thought you’d changed.” She knows she making low jabs, grazing raw wounds and old insecurities. Oh, but she doesn’t care when all she can see is Henry’s crestfallen face in her mind, his voice trembling when he asks _Is it my fault?_

“Yes, I ran away!” Emma says with so much conviction Regina wonders if she actually believes it was for the best. “I ran away because being trapped in that town wasn’t doing my family any good. I can’t be the daughter they want, and I can’t be the mother Henry deserves.”

_There is a castle with four walls and a magical force field surrounding the grounds. There is a king whose laughter doesn’t extend to her and a princess for whom she acts like a doll. She has to be perfect and quiet and smile and dance and watch and watch as the world closes in._

“Trapped?” Regina feels laughter bubbling up inside of her, thick and biting as it escapes. Emma looks at her with pitiful eyes, confusion replacing frustration.

“You were feeling trapped?” She laughs again. “You had _everything_. Your parents love you, _adore_ you. They would give the world to see you want for nothing, and Henry worships you. You’ll never get hurt, Emma Swan. Trapped?” Regina scoffs this time, at the absurdity of the notion. “You can’t tell me you’ve been trapped until you really knows what it means.” The last words are hissed, her face hot and her heart beating in her chest like it’s trying to break through. She breathes heavily and lets her words hang.

“Henry thinks it’s his fault you left. Say to me you’re being trapped when you have to tell your son that his mother abandoned him.”

Emma just stares at her for a moment and the room is quiet. Then, Regina watches the guilt crawl onto the other woman’s face, eating away at the defiance and bringing her to her knees on the ground.

Emma’s sobs are wretched and messy, her cheeks flushing red and eyes enflamed. Her breath catches on every uptake and her shoulders shake as she wraps her arms around herself. She drops back from her knees to a sitting position and, though Regina is surprised, makes herself even smaller.

“Oh, god,” she croaks, rocking back and forth on the floor. “Oh, god.” Emma repeats the phrase over and over again, unable to articulate beyond it.

“Get up,” Regina orders. She says is harshly, her intention to cut through the driveling pity-party Emma is throwing for herself. Her tolerance for the other woman’s state has dropped to zero and she needs to find overnight parking for her car before she wracks up city-priced tickets, or even worse, gets her car towed.

When Emma continues to be unresponsive, Regina goes over and wrenches her up by the arm. Emma lets her, being no help, but at the very least not resisting. Emma smells like sweat and beer and her blonde hair is wet with tears and snot, getting stuck to the side of Regina’s face. She grimaces and wipes the offending strands off before managing to drop the other woman back on the couch.

“Can you get into your bed?” she asks, knowing Emma can and will be petulant about it if nothing else.

“Yes,” Emma answers quietly. Her head is still bowed and the residual red spots on her cheeks are just visible through the mane covering the rest of her face.

“Good.” Regina almost sighs in relief. “I’ll be taking the couch.” She turns to pick her overnight bag off the floor.

“Where should I park my car if I’m to keep it on the street?”

Emma looks up. It takes her a second to focus her eyes on Regina and respond. “There should be an overnight parking pass in one of the drawers in the kitchen area. Just stick it in your windshield.” She pulls herself off the couch and without saying another word, disappears down the hallway into what Regina guesses is the bathroom.

Regina waits until the door closes before making her way into the kitchen, crinkling her nose at the pizza crumbs still littering the counter. She dusts them off onto the floor, at least where she doesn’t have to see them, and starts with the top drawer next to the sink. It’s empty except for a pad of sticky notes and a pen. The second drawer holds three sets of cutlery, all mismatched. It dawns on Regina that anything in currently in the apartment is all Emma owned before being pulled into Storybrooke. She looks up and scans around the open room. It’s unusually sparse. She knows Emma had only had two boxes shipped when moving in with Mary Margaret, but surely the woman owns more than three pairs of jeans and mismatching forks.

The third drawer proves to the be the one. Between old receipts and more pens, Regina finds a faded slip of paper with _Boston City Parking_ printed on the top in bold, black letters. She takes the permit, closes the drawer and moves to the leave the apartment.

“If you run away while I’m outside, I will end you, Miss Swan.” She adds the _Miss Swan_ to indicate the seriousness of her threat. The last thing she needs is an emotionally distraught Emma running around a city she herself doesn’t know at all.

A non-committal grunt comes from the behind the bathroom door.

Regina takes that as a yes and proceeds to make sure her car doesn’t get removed from the dark streets of Boston.

 

\--

 

She’s relieved to see Emma dressed for bed when she returns. The other woman is sitting in the couch in flannel pajama pants and an over-sized white shirt, her legs pulled up against her chest.

“You didn’t run away.”

Emma closes her eyes and rests her head on her knees. “Nope.”

“I’m setting my alarm for seven tomorrow morning. We’re leaving by eight, at the very latest. Can you survive that?”

“Yup.”

“Are you going to be sulking the entire time?”

“Probably.”

“I’ll be using the bathroom now.”

“Fine.”

Regina doesn’t spare Emma another glance and readies herself for bed, finally wiping the makeup from her eyes and washing away the residual smudge. When she leaves the bathroom, the door down the hall is closed and the apartment is silent. She finds a comforter folded on the edge of the couch and, though she won’t admit it to Emma, is grateful. The building is heated, but the air outside is still cold and nighttime brings its own special chill, inside and out.

She pulls the blanket up to her chin and tries her best to settle on the couch. It’s lumpy and the cushions forms crevices where her hips sink in, but it’s better than sleeping in her car. She closes her eyes and lets the weight of the day finally impress upon her. Regina is asleep in minutes.

 

\--

 

Her eyes snap open to see a shape outlined in the front door from the dim light from the hall. Her heart nearly beats out of her chest and her instinct is to pull from her magic. Her plan falls short when the energy doesn’t build at the edges of her fingers, and she quickly remembers she is out of Storybrooke. It’s only when the figure moves forward a little and the bounce of hair is illuminated that Regina relaxes.

And then she tenses all over again.

“Emma?” Her voice is sleep-soaked and hoarse, but it’s still an accusation. The figure in the doorway stops moving.

“What the _hell_ are you doing?” she says, sitting up and throwing the covers off.

“I’m going out for a little while.” Emma’s voice is startled, because of course she wasn’t planning on being caught. But Regina raised a particularly rambunctious night owl and wakes up at the sound of a pin drop.

“Excuse me?” She can’t believe it. Emma has the audacity to sneak out in the middle of the night, and she’s acting like nothing is wrong.

“I’ll be back by the time we have to leave, don’t think I’m just running away again.”

“Of _course_ I think you’re just running away again. Emma, are you aware of your situation?” She sits up straight now, clutching the pillow with one hand to keep herself calm. She is one second away from tying Emma up and leaving her in the corner until the next morning.

“I get it, I fucked up. I’m feeling really shitty about it and I’m going out one last time before I have to go back.” She pauses, looking Regina up and down. “You can’t stop me. You don’t have magic here.” Emma looks so much like Henry in that moment, both righteous and unyielding and sometimes so so _so_ wrong. Her heart aches for the boy back home.

But, Emma is right. She has no magic and is not nearly as physically strong as the other woman. Instead, she has twenty eight years of being in charge and twelve years of being a mother.

“Then I’m coming with you.”

Perhaps it’s because she knows she won’t win this battle, or it’s her foolish way of admitting she’s the tiniest bit wrong. Either way, Emma doesn’t protest and pushes the door all the way open with her foot.

“You need to change?”

Regina nods and moves to the bathroom with her arms full of her one change of clothes. When she comes back out, Emma is sill standing with her foot in the door, kicking it forward and letting it fall back over and over. Regina had expected her to bolt when she was occupied, trying her hardest to smooth down her bedhead, but Emma remains.

“This is a terrible idea, you know, and you’ll be exhausted tomorrow,” Regina snaps as they walk down the hall. Emma has donned only her red leather jacket with a turtleneck underneath, very little for how cold the East Coast has been. Regina wears her black wool coat, buttoned all the way up to the neck. She’s never been fond of cold weather, and walking around at-

She checks her watch. She grimaces when she reads _12:46_ on the face, pulling her gloves over her hands and covering it up before she changes her mind and decides to let Emma run loose all night by herself.

“You insisted,” Emma says. “I never said you had to come. You’re just imposing, as usual.”

“I’m not being imposing, you’re being ridiculous. You abandon your son and parents, then insist, on what? Drinking?”

“Whatever.”

Regina rolls her eyes.

When they get outside, she steals a glance at her car across the street, relieved to see it hasn’t yet been towed and no one has nicked the paint. Her knowledge of anything outside Storybrooke is minimal, even after reading book after book, but she knows cities hold their own danger. There is magic and occasional dragon back home, but here there are more ordinary threats beyond fantastical beasts.

Regina will never admit it, but she is terrified of the world outside Storybrooke. It holds unfamiliarity, and she doesn’t like surprises. They threaten her. There are books and movies that depict cities and towns in all corners of the country, but stepping into them herself makes her heart race and her palms clammy. When she’d gone to Snow’s apartment after being cleared of Archie’s murder to find out Emma had left town (doesn’t that sound familiar?) with her son to fly to New York City, Regina had almost burned down the building. Staying stoic until she returned safely to her own home, she’d proceeded to have a mini panic attack owing to a mixture of fear and rage that her son was kidnapped and taken out of state.

She still hasn’t forgiven Emma for that, and prickles at the memory. Emma walks ahead, not looking back to see if she’s following or not. The yellow deathtrap is parked a few blocks away, and some of the street lamps are out. They flicker to life and go out in an instant, throwing hazy, short-lived shadows across the layer of ice and slush.

“Sorry about the mess,” Emma mumbles as she unlocks the driver’s side door, then hits the switch on the inside to open the other. Regina steps into the vehicle, her mouth pulling into a thin line at the tissues littering the floor and half-empty soft drink in the cup holder. The car smells slightly stale, like most do in winter, but the prevailing scent of the wintergreen air freshener keeps her from making a snide remark.

“I’m sure it’s been worse.”

She catches Emma’s lips curl into a small smile. “Oh, definitely. You haven’t seen anything.”

As if suddenly remembering why Regina is there, the smile drops from Emma’s face and she puts the key in the ignition without saying another word. Regina looks back to the windshield, reminded by Emma’s sudden change that she is going out after midnight. To babysit a grown woman.

The car rumbles along the roads, steady on the slick pathway. Christmas lights are wrapped around street lamps and gaudy decorations fill storefront windows, the blinking neon lights of snowmen reflecting back against the glass. They don’t speak, Regina keeping her eyes out the window and watches the lit billboards pass by. She doesn’t ask where they’re going; she doesn’t care. What she really wants is to be home with Henry tucked safely away in bed and she wrapped in her duvet.

They arrive minutes later in the parking lot of a generic looking bar. The sign shines brightly against the grey sky, and a bassline rumbles through the walls into the night air. Emma hits the brakes too hard when she stops in the parking lot, and both woman jolt forward.

Inside is dimly lit. The interior is decorated like any sports bar, posters of famous basketball players on the wall and the smiling faces of golfers looking out from behind the bar. In the corner is a fake Christmas tree, wrapped in golden lights decorated with sports-themed ornaments. The music isn’t as bad as she’d feared, classic rock streaming out from the big black speakers hung from the ceiling. It, like Emma, smells like booze and sweat, a good crowd of people milling about and sitting at tables with drinks and peanuts. Regina feels terribly overdressed in her pencil skirt and white blouse, not imagining she would be bar-hopping on her impromptu trip to Boston. Everyone else seems to be content to guzzle beer in jeans and flannel shirts, not much unlike Emma, who has already sat down in one of two free seats at the bar. Regina makes her way around jovial groups of middle-aged men, clutching her purse to her chest and narrowly avoiding an elbow to the face. She finally manages to get to the bar and slide the stool out next to Emma.

“Is that Emma Swan?”

Regina looks up from trying to adjust her purse just in time to see a bartender come over and lean over the counter. Emma glances up and breaks into a wide grin.

“Matt?”

The man is middle-aged, bald, and wearing a Rolling Stones t-shirt. The big red lips crinkle as he leans over and awkwardly pulls Emma into a hug across the bar. Emma returns it, laughing and trying to say something that gets muffled by the hug. Regina has never seen Emma embrace anyone so freely, even Henry. She’s certainly never let her parents pull her into spontaneous hugs without going stiff.

“We thought you’d all died, or dropped off the face of the planet. Where have you been, girl?” He finally lets go and stands straight, giving Regina a better look. He has a tacky tribal tattoo on his bicep and four big rings on his fingers, the metal glistening when the light hits them. He looks at Emma with reverence, like she’s come back from the dead. Which, judging by Emma’s tendency to disappear without notice, isn’t surprising.

Emma is all smiles, though. In fact, Regina thinks she hasn’t seen the other women look this freely happy since they rescued Henry from Neverland. Her face lifts and the crease that had seemed to make itself at home on her forehead disappears as she chatters away with the bartender. Regina watches in silence, debating whether to order a glass of wine just to pass the time before Emma gets bored and decides to head back to the apartment.

“Hey, don’t be a stranger.” She feels a nudge to her side. Looking up, she sees both Emma and the bartender staring her way. She tries to give her best smile, but it ends up feeling tense and fake.

“This is Regina. Regina, this is Matt.”

Matt holds out his hand and she reluctantly takes it, pleased that it’s not sweaty or clammy or covered in beer.

“So you snagged yourself another beautiful girlfriend, I see.”

The color drains from Regina’s face and she lets go of Matt’s hand, pulling her arm in. She glances quickly at Emma, whose cheeks have flushed a deep pink.

“She’s not-“ Emma stutters, the crease appearing again on her forehead and the distinct look of panic in her eyes.

“She’s not my girlfriend. Regina is the mother of my son, Henry.”

Matt raises his eyebrows and Regina’s eyes really do almost roll out of her head this time. Emma turns an even deeper red, if possible, and puts her hands up.

“No, that sounded totally wrong, too. Regina adopted the kid I gave up twelve years ago. We’re just friends.”

 _Barely_ , thinks Regina, flagging down another bartender to order a glass of wine before Emma makes an even bigger fool of herself.

“So you’re living with her, but you’re just friends?” Matt’s voice is thick with doubt, something she doesn’t appreciate in the slightest. She’s enjoying watching Emma stumble over words, though, digging herself deeper and deeper.

“We’re not living together. She’s just visiting. And trust me, I wouldn’t touch her with a ten-foot pole.”

“The same to you, dear,” Regina quips, and finally puts her fingers around a glass of deep red wine, bringing it to her lips. “Don’t flatter yourself.”

Emma pulls back and gives Regina a look before turning to Matt and continuing their conversation. They talk animatedly, and Regina catches fragments about finding birth parents and long-lost sons. There is no mention of dragons and wicked witches and how everyone in Storybrooke somehow seems to be related.

 _So Emma dated –dates?– women_. Regina mulls over this bit of information, not surprised when she pieces together the bits of Emma she’s seen since the women arrived in Storybrooke. She makes a note to nag Ruby about it when she returns. Sidney hadn’t ever found anything, but Regina has always been sure something went on there. If her taste in women is as bad as her taste in men, however, Regina will be offended that Matt the bartender would even assume. On the other hand, it does give her one more thing to hover over Emma when they return.

Not that Regina has anything against women liking other women. She lived in a small town, but that didn't mean she was barbaric. Honestly, this world ended up being more uptight about it all than anyone was back in the Enchanted Forest.

She glances next to her, looking over the rim over her glass. It’s odd, watching Emma talk to someone from outside Storybrooke in a way that indicates they’d known each other well before Emma’s sudden departure. It always seemed like Emma existed only in Storybrooke. Ironic, Regina thinks, when Emma tries so hard to distance herself from the town.

Regina grows bored with sitting at the bar listening to Emma and Matt chatter. The wine glass is nearly empty now and she slides off the stool, careful not to spill what is left of her drink. Purse over her shoulder, she snakes through the crowd again to look at the pictures on the wall. She’s never been one for sporting events, only watching the Super Bowl once at Henry’s insistence. Henry had cheered and whooped along with the touchdowns and fumbles. She had patiently waited for it to be over so she could finally switch channels without Henry’s protests that football was a very important pastime. At the time, she couldn’t really tell him that there was no football in Fairytale Land and that watching grown men tackle each other in front of millions of people wasn’t her idea of an important pastime.

The portraits all blur together in her mind, football players mixing with soccer players mixed with basketball players…

“Can I buy you another drink?”

She starts and turns around from a photograph of Michael Jordan to face a young man in a business suit. His hair is clipped short, tie loosened around his neck. The man’s eyes flash downward as she fixes him with a stare, assessing just how old he might be. Twenty-five, maybe?

“I’ll pass, thank you,” she says curtly, her tone leaving no room for argument. She is in no mood to be picked up at a dive bar.

The man looks like he’s going to push it, but stops when she raises an eyebrow in challenge. Regina does not take well to being pestered, especially after a firm “no.” She supposes it’s a leftover trait of being queen and mayor for so long, but persistent men repulse her. The man backs off.

“Regina?” Her head lifts and she glances around the room. The call comes again.

 _“Regina?”_ It’s distinctly Emma’s voice, rising above the buzz of the room. She’s reminded of a year ago, losing consciousness after holding the dark curse scroll. It was her name called by Emma that brought her back after seeing what she had to do. It’s the same, panicked, worried tone that now carries over to the corner Regina is standing in.

“I’m right here,” she answers, spotting the red leather coming toward her. Emma’s head pops into sight, and Regina raises her hand and gives a curt wave.

“Haven’t run off yet, unlike some people.”

Emma pushes past a group and huffs before standing before Regina.

“You really don’t need to keep rubbing that in. It’s getting old.”

“Pity,” is all she says, finishing off the wine. “How much have you had to drink?”

“Not nearly enough to make this night any less shitty.” Emma chuckles and holds out a half-empty glass of beer. “But I guess that’s my fault, huh?”

“Entirely, but it seems I’m going to start beating a dead horse. Did you enjoy catching up with your gossipy friend?”

Emma’s cheeks flush again at the memory of that conversation. She takes a step, keeping her gaze away from Regina’s.

“About that-“

“I don’t need you to explain you sordid past to me. What you’ve done is none of my business.”

Emma is about to say something, but instead she gives a weak smile and nods, a silent thank you.

“Do you want any coffee before we head out?”

“I’m not much of a late night coffee drinker. I don’t suppose they have tea, do they?”

“I’m sure I can wrangle Matt into throwing some leaves in hot water, if I tell him it’s for royalty.”

Regina turns her head to hide the smile that creeps onto her face.

“Thank you. But, please. Let’s find a booth before any children proposition me for drinks.”

Emma’s face screws up. “Really?”

Regina finds a booth in the back corner, far away from the din of the main floor and the prying eyes of Matt, who keeps looking over like he’s convinced his theory is right.

“Yes, dear. Really.”

She notices Emma scanning the room, a scowl on her face appearing every time her eyes rest on a young man looking over at them.

 

\--

 

“Why did you pin the letter to just my door?” Regina asks. She looks down into her cup and swirls it around, more tea leaves than water. The leaves stick to the edges of the cup. “One more thing to throw on the town scapegoat, I suppose?”

Emma regards her with furrowed brows. “That’s not why.”

“Perhaps you hoped Henry would see it first, then? Or maybe you just hoped no one would find it and you’d be forgotten. Let Regina read it and throw it out so Snow White can be miserable never knowing what happened to her daughter.”

“Stop it, Regina,” Emma cautions. She holds tightly to her own cup, fingers paling as they squeeze the coffee mug. “That’s not why I taped the note to your door.”

“Then why did you?” She’s out of reasons and the nagging feeling of being used again creeps into her senses. She’s always the one to deal with the Charming family failures, making sure the town doesn’t fall apart while they play hero.

Emma stays silent for a few minutes, pondering her coffee and looking everywhere but Regina. Finally, she sighs and places her palms on the table.

“I put that note on your door because I knew you’d be the least surprised that I jumped town. I just couldn’t imagine giving that note to Snow, or David…” She pauses to glance back down at her coffee. “Or Henry. I knew you’d get it before he got home from school.”

“So I _am_ the scapegoat.”

“I didn’t say-“

“What? I’m the least likely to throw myself a pity party because you left so I get to be the one to inform everyone else of your disappearance? Do you think of no one but yourself, Miss Swan?”

“No, I guess I don’t.” Emma keeps her voice curt. There are bags getting more and more pronounced under her eyes every hour they stay up. Regina is still alert, the night not yet weighing down on her. She glances at her clock and sees it’s half-past three. The bar has emptied considerably, and Matt has begun to shuffle people out.

“Are you quite ready to go back now?”

“Fine.”

 

\--

 

Emma’s car only rattles a little as she turns the key in the ignition. The engine roars to life a few threatening whirs later, and they pull out of the crowded parking lot and onto the roads. Emma keeps glancing at Regina, who stares out of the window with an empty feeling in her chest.

She’s used to being used by others without the other realizing they’re using her. She’s spent her whole life being groomed and prodded and forced into situations without her say, so why does she seem to feel it so acutely now? Her eyes prickle at the edges and she silently curses her body for betraying her at such an inopportune moment. She catches Emma in the reflection of the window glancing over to her a she drives.

“There’s, uh, another reason I taped the note to your door.”

Regina blinks rapidly to expel any tears that might escape, but keeps her eyes trained on the road going past. When she doesn’t say anything in response, Emma continues.

“It’s because…” Emma’s voice trails off, and Regina can hear the strain in her voice, like the words are sticking to the inside of her throat.

“Okay, so here’s the thing.” It sounds so much like the Emma who barged into Storybrooke all those years ago that Regina does turn her head slightly.

“Of all the people in Storybrooke who made me feel trapped, you didn’t.”

Her heart thumps in her chest, this new confession sinking in. Before she can think of anything to say, Emma speaks again, like she needs to say everything at once before her mind catches up with her.

“Everyone else saw me as this savior, this perfect white knight who was there to save them all. But you, you never did that.”

“Because you are no white knight.”

Emma drums her fingers on the steering wheel. “You’re just proving my point here. Why? How come everyone else can’t see past that but you can?”

Regina picks up on the desperate tone in Emma’s voice, like she’s been waiting to tell someone this for so long but didn’t know how to bring it up. And of course she wouldn’t, not around her parents or Henry or anyone else in the town that sees Emma only as a messiah. She is a goddess come to rescue them from the Evil Queen’s curse and Peter Pan and wicked witches and more curses. There is no time for a hero to be unhappy in a world where good and bad are the only two options and good always wins.

“Am I your emotional dumpster, Miss Swan?”

She closes her eyes and feels a wave of exhaustion fall over her. The night and day have both been long, and her capacity for deep conversations has never been large to begin with.

“You don’t fool me.” She tilts her head to look at the other woman. It’s dark in the car and they both sit in relative shadow. Only when the light from outside hits Emma’s glossy eyes can she discern any part of her face. “I have no reason to coddle you or pretend you’re something you’re not. I don’t see you as my savior or long-lost parent or daughter. From the first day you entered my life, Emma, I saw you as an enemy. You fought so hard to break apart everything I did, of course I’m not going to hold you up on some pedestal. All I wanted was to hurt you, to get you to leave.”

“But you don’t anymore.” It’s more a statement than a question, but Emma still hesitates when speaking it.

“But I don’t anymore.”

“Why?”

Regina rests her head against the back of the seat and rests her arm across her stomach, clutching at the thick fabric of her coat. She tries to remember the exact moment where the idea of keeping Emma safe became more important than hurting her, but the moments all blend together and she realizes that she doesn’t know.

“There was a point I knew that you would never not be a part of my life anymore. And I could fight an unbeatable fight, like I always have, or I could let you be. Maybe I’ve grown tired of fighting the Charming clan. Maybe I’m becoming soft in my old age.” Her lip curls up in a smile an she sees Emma’s do the same.

“You could have let me stay here, in Boston. Henry could have been yours, and couldn’t have blamed you for me leaving. There was the note, my parents could have seen it, too.”

“Are you trying to get me to leave you here?”

“No, I just don’t understand what you gain from bringing me back.”

“Henry would have-“

“No, he would have gotten over it. It would have just been you and him, like you wanted. I would have been the bad guy.”

“Do you really think I still want to do that? I’m tired of trying to make you leave.” It comes out sappy and far more personal than Regina had intended, but the exhaustion is making her brain fuzzy. She backtracks her thoughts, trying to figure out what she had planned on saying.

Her words seem to take Emma aback and she doesn’t say anything for a few seconds.

“But I don’t want to be in Storybrooke. And now you’re taking me back.”

“As I made clear before, I’m not going to coddle you, or let you run around like a stubborn child every time the situation isn’t ideal. It’s ridiculous. You’re an adult.”

“You’re not my mother,” Emma says, her voice almost a whine.

“And you aren’t anything special or powerful or unstoppable. You don’t get to run away because it’s the easy thing to do. You have demons and insecurities and more darkness inside your heart than your foolish parents can see, and it’s time you faced them, Emma.”

She spits the words out, angry at Emma for not understanding, angry at Snow and Charming for not seeing it, angry at herself for having to come rescue the woman from her own insecurities.

Emma’s hand slips on the steering wheel and the car swerves slightly to the left. Regina instantly reaches for the sides of the seat, her chest tightening rapidly. She imagines this as her last moment, stuck in a car in cold, snowy Boston with Emma Swan of all people. But, just as the car swerves, Emma grips the wheel again and straightens it out.

“Sorry,” she mutters.

“Are you sure you’re fit to drive?” She sounds shrill, but the thumping in her chest is a reminder that she’s one tired mishap away from dying in the yellow deathtrap.

“Yes, I’m fine. I’m _fine_. We’re almost there, anyway.”

Emma never responds to Regina’s comment before that, but babbles about making sure she’s packed again now that she’s gotten her final fill of Boston. They find an empty spot only a few doors down from the apartment building and walk briskly down the sidewalk, holding coats up against their faces to keep the wind from biting so hard.

 

\--

 

It’s a blessing when Regina can finally unwrap from her layers of clothing and sit on the couch. The air is pleasant and warm and it doesn’t smell like stale beer anymore (although the permeating scent of pizza still lingers). Emma sheds her jacket and tosses it onto the nearest chair, throwing her shoes next to it. Her eyes are unfocused and she crouches on the couch as far from Regina as possible, but on the couch nonetheless.

“Are you happy in Storybrooke?” She whispers it, Regina only hearing because the room is so quiet otherwise. She can feel Emma’s presence next to her even though she won’t turn her head, steady breaths in and out.

She leans back and closes her eyes. Storybrooke seems so far away and distant, although she’s only been gone less than a day. She feels so detached from all of the magical mishaps and drones of people still out for her blood, a sense of peacefulness washing over her even in a city where she can’t use magic to protect herself. She thinks of Henry and Robin, waiting for her back home. She realizes she hasn’t ever called, and feels a pang of guilt. She hadn’t even checked her phone, sure that if she looked now there would be a message from Henry and at least five from Snow. She opens her eyes and looks at the clock in the kitchen. _3:37_.

“Yes.”

“You’re lying.”

Regina gives her a pointed glare and opens her mouth when Emma cuts her off.

“I always know when you’re lying Regina. And right now, you are.”

She lets out a ragged sigh and brings her knees to her chest. She can’t argue with the other woman, not when there is such a steadfast truth to her words.

“I think someday I might be.” Maybe she will, and as she looks at Emma worrying her lip, she thinks Emma might be happy someday, too. She hates this sudden feeling of sympathy for the other woman. It’s because it’s too late, she justifies, and the night has been too strained.

“Me, too. And…and is Robin treating you well?”

Regina looks over to Emma and raises her eyebrows. “Why do you ask?”

Emma looks so uncomfortable and Regina still feels the tiniest spark of glee in watching her squirm.

“I dunno, just seems like you guys hit it off really fast.”

“He’s been good to me, and to Henry. We’re soul mates. We belong together.” Her words are soft. “What about you and that horrible pirate?” Regina doesn’t hide her distaste for Hook. She dislikes him now, as she had in the past and will continue to in the future. He’s vile, crude, and far too handsy for her liking. She can’t imagine what Emma sees in him apart from his pretty face. He’s low, even for the other woman’s taste.

“He’s an ass.”

“You seem to be the last one to realize that.”

“Guess I just need a distraction.”

Emma gets up off the couch and picks her jacket up, throwing it over her shoulder. Regina really looks at her then, when Emma isn’t paying attention. The other woman walks with her shoulders, swinging them back and forth with a very masculine gait. She slouches slightly, and walks with her feet facing outward. The antithesis of a princess; a lost girl floating in between worlds.

“Will you still keep the apartment after coming back?” Regina asks, something she’s been wondering since she had arrived.

“I don’t know yet. There’s really no reason, is there?”

“I suppose not.”

As she gets to her bedroom door, Emma turns.

“What you said earlier, in the car, about what my parents can’t see. That’s why I left the note on your door.”

She doesn’t wait for a response and ducks into her room, gently shutting the door behind her. Regina is left staring into the dark hallway and mulling over Emma’s words.

“Goodnight, Emma,” she murmurs.

She pulls out her phone and sees that, indeed, there are a number of missed messages. She fires off a quick text to Henry letting him know that everything is alright and to tell Robin they’ll be back by lunchtime. She even takes pity on Snow and relays that Emma is well and they’ll be returning the next day. She doesn’t listen to the many messages from the woman, too tired to deal with her voice.

She doesn’t bother changing back into her pajamas, her alarm set three hours from then. She falls asleep trying to figure out why, despite the inconvenience and annoyance, her trip to Boston feels like the first freedom she’s had since the curse broke.

 

\--

 

When her alarm goes off, Regina lets out an audible groan. Her back aches from the odd position she’d ended up in on the couch and her eyes feel like iron weights are tied to the lids. She knows driving back last night would have been just as tiring as driving back this morning, cursing Emma for deciding she _had_ to go out one last time.

She glances down and smoothes out the worst wrinkles in her shirt, patting down her unruly bedhead next.

There’s a grunt from down the hall and she hear rustling behind Emma’s door as an alarm goes off. Seconds later, the door is pushed open and Emma herself stumbles out. She, too, is in her clothes from last night, hair stuck to her head on one side and frizzing out on the other.

“G’morning,” she mumbles, a hand over her eyes as she makes her way into the bathroom. “I’ll be ready, just give me a few.” The door to the bathroom slams shut.

Regina pulls herself out of bed, a massive headache looming as she moves around to put her things in her bag. She doesn’t bother folding her clothes, knowing they’re already too wrinkled to save.

“Go ahead, it’s all yours.” Emma finally emerges from the bathroom, her hair tamed and a fresh change of clothes replacing the stained white shirt from the previous night.

Before they leave, Regina checks her phone to see a reply from Henry and Snow, both relieved to hear from her. Henry’s text is filled with smiley faces, and ends with _Thanks, Mom._ Her heart swells in her chest.

They don’t speak again until they walk downstairs to their respective cars. Neither had been towed, mostly to Regina’s relief. Emma takes her duffle bag (is that really all she brought with her when planning to spend the rest of her life in Boston?) and tosses it into the backseat of the yellow deathtrap.

“I’ll just follow you, I guess.”

Regina is across the street at her own car, popping the trunk to place her bag inside.

“If you can manage. You do know how to get back to Storybrooke, I assume?”

“Well, I don’t have a ten-year-old giving me directions, but I think I can make it. And if I get horribly lost, you can just tell everyone I magically disappeared into a portal or something. Wouldn’t be the first time.” Emma laughs, but Regina’s face remains impassive, her eyes searching Emma’s see if there’s any sign of seriousness.

“Just do your best to keep my car in sight, please.” She crosses her arms. “I can’t magically carry you back.”

“Trust me, I’m pretty good at tracking people down.” It’s with that that Emma closes the car door and starts the engine. Regina does the same, and off they ride.

 

\--

 

The yellow car remains in the corner of Regina’s mirror the entire drive back, only disappearing for small periods of time when they have to exit or enter onto other roads. Regina’s heart speeds up when Emma’s car is no longer visible, her grip on the wheel only loosening when the little yellow car comes back into view.

She doesn’t bother turning on the radio or putting in one of the many CDs Henry used to hoard in the glove compartment. She keeps half her focus on the road, and the other half on making sure Emma gets home.

As pine trees and moose crossing signs go by in a blur, Regina thinks about what an odd experience it had been retrieving Emma. Now that she can sit in the silence of her own car, her minds flips back through the previous night’s events, each conversation flickering like old slides.

Trying to get Emma to talk about _anything_ related to her personal life is like pulling teeth. She knows this from her encounters and any background knowledge she’s gathered over the years. So then _why_ was Emma so willing to spill everything at the slightest prompting? Not even a prompting, Regina realizes. Emma was pushing _her_ for answers, desperately grasping for anything Regina could offer. Was it because Emma had finally had it with Storybrooke, having some sort of midlife crisis that sent her running to Boston?

_Are you happy?_

The question comes back and nags Regina just on the edge of her thoughts.

It’s a little before one when the _Welcome to Storybrooke_ sign looms in the distance. There haven’t been any other cars on the road since the last two exits, and Emma is still following her. She didn’t expect Emma to disappear on the route back up the coast, but she’s still thankful all will end smoothly. There has been enough adventure in the last 24 hours for a good while.

As she approaches the town sign, Regina’s stomach flutters. She had left town for the first time since Henry was a baby, gone for only a night and yet feeling like she’d been away for weeks. Emma honks behind her as they cross the town line, still spray painted in orange across the asphalt. She looks into her rearview mirror to see Emma wave. She hesitates, then lifts a hand to wave back.

They garner a few stares at they drive through the main drag of downtown, no doubt in Regina’s mind that Snow had told everyone of Emma’s disappearance. One more burden for Emma to deal with when she reunites with her family. Regina doesn’t even notice the stares anymore, and focuses her energy on getting everyone home before hell breaks loose. She turns down the road to the Charming’s apartment first, pulling up in front of the old building and putting the car into park. She rolls down her window as Emma walks up, bag held in one arm.

“This is where I say thank you, right?” Emma leans down into the open window and puts out her free hand. Regina pauses a moment, and then shakes it.

“I expect as much, seeing as you greatly disrupted my life and your family’s in the last day.”

Emma has the decency to look ashamed one last time.

“Thank you, for everything. You gonna give me one more talking to before my parents go tell me how much they’ve missed me but never mention how disappointed they are?”

“Do you want them to be?”

“If they don’t, at least I can count on you for that,” Emma says, breaking into a smile.

Regina sighs, her body aching for sleep. She’s tired of indulging in Emma’s self-pity, at least for now.

“I’m angry at you for abandoning our son. I am disappointed in your clothing choices, and the car you drive, your questionable eating habits. But, Emma, I was never disappointed in you. Furious, maybe, perhaps a little jealous of how easily everyone loves you, but never disappointed.”

Emma leans forward, and Regina has one second to see the small freckles that adorn Emma’s nose that she’s never noticed before. She dips her head to the left, leaving Emma to brush against Regina’s cheek. Emma’s lips are soft and they graze the skin just next to her chin, making her stiffen.

The other woman’s eyes open and she takes in a breath.

“I’m sorry,” Emma stutters. She backs up quickly and clings the duffle bag to her chest. “I am so sorry. I-” She clamps her mouth shut and jogs to the building door, not looking back or saying anything else.

Regina sits with her mouth pursed shut. Her mind hasn’t caught up with her body yet, which is still rigid and shaking. She switches to drive and mechanically makes her way over toward Robin’s cabin. Her cheek still tingles and she raises a hand up and stops herself before it reaches her face. Her mind is static, pushing all thoughts of Emma out of her head and instead focusing on Henry’s face and its joy when he hears his mother is home.

 _One of his mothers,_ she corrects herself.

Robin lives on the outskirts, the vast woods stretching beyond his backyard and into the Maine wilderness. The smell of the ocean isn’t as pungent as it is downtown, the aroma of pine and damp dirt overpowering the salt air. She parks in front of his house next to the battered green pickup. No sooner has she opened her door than the front door to the cabin bursts open and Henry comes racing toward her, shoulders swinging in a way that reminds her painfully of Emma.

“Mom! You’re back!” He collides with her, arms wrapping around her midriff and pushing her backward. She stumbles and her back is pressed against the cold metal of her car, Henry still wrapped around her. Her heart catches in her throat at the open display of affection. Though she’s been gone merely a day, he clings to her coat with needy hands. He looks up at her, breath coming out in short puffs, visible in the freezing air. It’s so much colder here than in Boston.

“Is Emma back?” Desperation laces his words, like he wasn’t sure Emma would be returning to Storybrooke.

“Yes,” Regina says. “Yes, she’s at her parents right now, but I’m sure she wants to see you later.”

She puts a gloved hand on his head and smoothes the unruly cowlicks that only seem to multiply when brushed down.

“Is she still mad at me?” Henry says next, and it makes Regina angry all over again.

“No, honey.” She holds him closer, pulling his head into her shoulder. He’ll be as tall as her before she knows it, another thought to push away. “No, she was never mad at you.”

“Then why did she leave?”

Regina thinks about this for a moment. She sees Robin standing in the doorway, waving when he sees her. Roland stands behind his legs, tiny fists bunched into the fabric of Robin’s jeans. She looks up to meet Robin’s eyes but she only manages to see Emma’s face, terrified eyes wide in shock and a litany of apologies tumbling from her lips.

“Emma was confused, after Zelena was gone. She panicked a little and made a very impulsive choice. It’s been a long year for her, and for all of us.”

“But she’s going to stay now?” Henry looks up at her and knits his eyebrows together. “Do you think she’ll want to stay?” He repeats himself.

“The last thing in the world Emma wants to do is abandon you. I promise you that.”

He regards her again with eyes that search hers to see if there is any hint of a lie.

“I believe you,” he says firmly. “Thanks, Mom. For going to get her.”

Regina pulls him close one more time and releases him, shooing him toward the house and pestering him about of how cold it is and how he’ll freeze if he stays out in just his shirt. She follows after him, pulling her coat around her neck. Robin pulls her into a hug when she crosses the doorway. He smells like the woods, and his arms engulf her. She leans into him, his touch making the world melt away into something simple, a world where the most she has to worry about is cutting Roland’s macaroni in half and turning the heat down before going to bed. She knows how to do this, to be with him.

“Everything go well?” he asks as she pulls back. Roland comes from behind him and gives her leg a quick squeeze before running off to pester Henry. “Henry sounded hysterical when I picked him up.”

“It went well. Into Boston, out of Boston.”

“Did you sleep at all?” Robin asks, putting his arms on her shoulder and brushing the hair from her eyes. “You look exhausted.”

“I could sleep for a week,” she jokes. Her body is still wrought with how little rest she’d gotten. When she returns home, she knows she’ll fall asleep the moment she goes horizontal.

“Did The Swan girl give you any trouble?”

“No more than usual. Although, usual is still an impressive amount of trouble.”

“Well,” Robin says, putting a hand on the small of her back. “He’s to hoping she doesn’t run away again.”

“I won’t be the one to go after her next time, so she’d better hope her parents know how to drive out of state. Thank you for watching Henry while I was occupied, by the way. We’ll be over for dinner later this week?”

“Of course.”

She calls for Henry, who takes forever to put on his coat and boots on. As they’re leaving, Robin leans in and brushes his lips against hers. For a terrifying moment she’s afraid he’ll sense Emma’s scent still on her cheek. She tenses. She’s being ridiculous.

“You’re a good woman, Regina,” Robin says, just quietly enough that she’s the only one who hears.

She squeezes his arm and smiles, the muscles in her mouth sore like the rest of her body. Her chest tightens as he lets go of her arm. The fabric of her shirt stays indented where his palm had rested, and she shakes her sleeve until its smooth again.

“We’ll see you later this week then.”

Henry gives him a quick hug and ruffles Roland’s hair before they leave. They hurry to the car, Henry going on about how he hopes it snows again on Christmas now that the immanent danger of his mother’s abandonment has passed and no longer poses a threat to his grand plans. He talks about how it didn’t snow in New York City on Christmas. The sky stayed grey all day and the wind was bitter, but snow never fell from the clouds.

She flips on the heat and car warms quickly.

“I can’t remember a Christmas here without snow,” Regina insists as they drive back to Mifflin Street. “Even if we don’t have a storm, there’s always snow on the ground.”

“Are we going to have everyone over for Christmas dinner?”

She turns into their driveway, parking the car in the garage for fear of an incoming ice storm the weatherman had warned about. The door from the garage to inside sticks and she has to push her weight against it to get it to finally snap open.

“Everyone?”

“Yeah, you, me, Robin, Roland, Emma and Hook, and Grams and Gramps and little Neal.”

“Would you like that?”

“Yeah, like a giant family dinner.”

A family dinner. Her stomach turns at the mention of Hook, but she supposes he’ll have to come along if she invites the others. And Emma. Regina clenches her fists at her side.

“We’ll see.”

Henry takes it as a yes and smiles as he runs upstairs, no doubt calling his other mother on the walkie-talkies they still insist on using. He thinks Regina doesn’t know, but she hears him whispering in his room when he believes she’s tucked away in bed.

“I’m going to rest for a few hours,” she calls up the stairs, toeing her shoes off and placing them neatly next to the door. “We’ll make dinner afterward, if that’s alright with you.”

A sound of approval from above.

“If Emma comes over, let her know I’m sleeping.”

“’Kay!” Henry calls back, already immersed in something else.

She uses her remaining energy to carry herself upstairs before collapsing on her bed. After sleeping on Emma’s couch, the firm mattress is heaven on her back. She undresses under the sheets, dropping her clothes next to the bed and wrapping herself in the comforter.

Finally alone, she closes her eyes. She doesn’t want to be awake when Emma comes over, not after their parting scene. She brings a hand up and brushes it against her cheek this time, expecting there to be something when she knows there won’t be. Her skin still feels the same, hot and smooth to her touch.

Looking back on that previous night, she pieces together everything and realizes she shouldn’t be surprised. Emma had been overtired and emotionally distraught, this all another grievance to make Regina’s life hell all over again. Emma Swan, the lost girl clinging to anything she can and trying to find happiness in all the wrong places. Childish, infuriating, impulsive Emma Swan. And Regina had let her get under her skin.

_“Are you happy?”_

She feels a tear trail down her cheek and hates the way that Emma’s words make her insides twist up and hurt. She pulls the covers tighter around her and wills sleep to come. _  
_

_There is a town in Maine with an ocean and a forest and a single path to escape. There is a man who loves her more than she will ever love him and a child who she will always love more than he can love her. There are hundreds of people who will never forgive her, and there are those will never stop looking at her with pity. Outside of this town there is a world with a thousand possibilities she will never face.  
_

“No,” Regina whispers into the pillow.

Perhaps Emma isn’t so wrong after all.

**Author's Note:**

> And there's that! I wrote this for the Swan Queen Big Bang: Banging All Summer challenge. I had originally planned on writing two more parts, but as I'm not really into this pairing anymore, I'm unfortunately going to have to leave it here.
> 
> I promise the series was supposed to end happy, with Swan Queen canon and a big happy vacation. Thanks for reading. :)


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